Alimento para puma

Miguel, a thirty-something musician and nomad, returns, very much against his will, to his father's half-abandoned house, nestled in rural Argentina, with whom he hasn't spoken in years. There, he's greeted by the harsh, unforgiving nature of the surroundings, a pack of dogs, and Celso, the Paraguayan who looks after the property—an inexhaustible wellspring of alcoholic excesses and shifting beliefs, all with the same unwavering conviction. With Celso, he forges a friendship as committed as it is unlikely. Amid the contradictions that define this arid world, and his own turbulent emotional landscape, Miguel prays: "Let something happen to me. Something that changes me. Something irreversible." Perhaps it's a matter of luck. Or of sharpening his gaze to see beyond the obvious and unravel his own existence, where the strangeness begins with not being able to hear himself. Or to discover the need to unlearn in order to find oneself again, to understand a world as alien as it is beautiful, with that overflowing beauty of real life that rebels and imposes itself amidst rural discord and the vertigo of doing for the first time what one never even imagined.